


Pretty Witchers and Evil Bards

by TinyThoughts



Series: Pretty evil things [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Author Is Sleep Deprived, Geralt is infatueted, I was wrong, Idiots in Love, Jaskier is a little drunk, Jealous Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Short, There will be words, i thought this was a oneshot, welcome to stupid cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-24 00:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyThoughts/pseuds/TinyThoughts
Summary: Jaskier arrives just in time to see Geralt blush furiously. He didn’t know he could do that. A little lost, he just stands there. He barely registers the soft evil barmaid swaggering up to him with a tray of empty glasses and tankards.“Need something, hun?” She says, kindly. Jaskier hates her a little for it. He tears his eyes from the shocking sight of a blushing witcher.“Uh.. Mmm, sorry yes. Could I have a flagon of wine to bring to the room?”“Sure thing dear.” She saunters away, hips swaying. Any other night he would have admired it, maybe find a way to admire it more intimately. But tonight, she is the enemy.The enemy returns with his wine, and Jaskier all but flees up the stairs.There will be words when Geralt returns. If he returns.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Pretty evil things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1685719
Comments: 8
Kudos: 222





	Pretty Witchers and Evil Bards

**Author's Note:**

> Because I am easily persuaded and had to spend my day off writing this. Because I love my stupid boys. Because I love all of you out there reading it! Thank you so much for kudos and comments!! Hope you like this next part as much!

~~~~~~*~~~~~

Jaskier is absolutely miserable.

He throws himself into bed dramatically, as is his forte. Absently trying to kick off his boots, face down in the pillow.

Why did this have to happen? No doubt Geralt would be down there for hours more, and he really can’t blame him.

Well. Yes he can. He can blame him a little.

Because there was a wonderful specimen of barding perfection right next to him.   
A much better option.

His left godsdamned boot won't let go. He peeks down at it.

“You betraying me too, huh?” He asks it.

Luckily, the boot doesn’t answer. If it did, it would either mean that he lost his mind, or he would have to go fetch Geralt.

He’d rather not go fetch Geralt right now.

He wiggles his leg, feebly trying to free himself.

You know what? So what if he wants Geralt? Geralt is a glorious piece of manmeat anyway, and obviously he is not the only one thinking it.

Some who had approached Jaskier for some late night adult fun had even asked him if the witcher would mind joining them.   
He might have to reevaluate what stung back then though.

Wine. Jaskier needs wine.

He needs to drown thoughts of mouthwatering witchers and betrayed friendships.   
But that includes going down there.   
To them.

Or does it?

He stops his wiggling, thinking about it. Jaskier is a big boy. He can get himself some wine.

No problem! The Epic Boot Battle ends with Jaskier finally just pulling the offending thing off with both hands, standing up.

Like a cat, (also barefoot) he sneaks out of their room, down the stairs.

Jaskier arrives just in time to see Geralt blush furiously.

He didn’t know he could do that.

A little lost, he just stands there.

He barely registers the soft evil barmaid swaggering up to him with a tray of empty glasses and tankards.

“Need something, hun?” She says, kindly. Jaskier hates her a little for it.

He tears his eyes from the shocking sight of a blushing witcher.

“Uh.. Mmm, sorry yes. Could I have a flagon of wine to bring to the room?”

“Sure thing dear.” She saunters away, hips swaying. Any other night he would have admired it, maybe find a way to admire it more intimately.

But tonight, she is the enemy.

The enemy returns with his wine, and Jaskier all but flees up the stairs.

There will be words when Geralt returns.

If he returns.

~~*~~

Geralt is… feeling things.

He had not expected Bella to be so perceptive. She had shared his bed before, and he wouldn’t have minded sharing it again.

Now he minds.   
Sharing a room with Jaskier suddenly sucks a lot more than normal, because that wretched woman just put words on what he has been denying for ages.

And he just gave Jaskier the impression that he was spending the night with Bella.

On purpose.

Because he is an idiot.

Geralt decides to stay at the table for a while.

Refuse to choose the lesser evil and all that.   
The other patrons are lively and they like him here for the most part.   
He had taken a contract here last year, ridding them of a werewolf tormenting their village. As it turns out, the werewolf were none other than their equally oppressive mayor, and the people had prospered without him.

So yes, he was welcome here.

He watches the other patrons for a while, talks a little bit more to Bella, although a bit more stiffly now.   
She smiles knowingly and a far bit more evil than he thought her capable of. He can stand it for about an hour.

That must be enough. Hopefully Jaskier is asleep by now.

Bella kisses his cheek and wishes him luck when he excuses himself for the night.

Evil woman.

Jaskier is not asleep.

Fuck.

He is sitting by the table in the middle of the room, arms crossed over his chest, glaring over his glass of wine.

Geralt closes the door behind him, not sure if he actually should just run away. Take Roach and ride away in the night.

“Sit down, Geralt.” Jaskir says in a voice he doesn’t recognize. Not good.

Warily Geralt sits down on the opposite chair. The night had started out so good.

“We are friends, right?”... What? “You know me and I know you? Like, I know you like sweet cakes but pretend you don’t. How you prefer sunrise to sunset. And you know how I am really scared of heights.”

Geralt had not expected Jaskier to have noticed that about him. He grunts noncommittally, not wanting to confirm nor deny.   
Wrong answer.

Jaskier frowns, leaning forward.

“Really? That’s all you’re giving me?” He sounds kind of hurt.   
And a little drunk, Geralt realizes, noticing for the first time just how little wine there is left.

Jaskier stands up, walking agitated around the room.

“I am _shook_ , Geralt, to my very core.” Geralt is a little nervous, he is not sure where Jaskier is going with this, what his point is.

Did he want Bella or something?

Or far worse, had he heard her?

“Did I do something wrong?” Jaskier stops with his back to him.

Geralt doesn’t understand.

“I .. don’t understand.” He admits.

Jaskier whips around and pins him with a glare.

“Am I unclear? You have HURT me, Geralt, wounded me. If I ever want you to tell me about something, I have to threaten you, nag at you, anything to coax a WORD out of you.”

Jaskier starts pacing again, and Geralt is trying to puzzle together what Jaskier is hurting over.

Jaskier stops again. Studies Geralt, and he can see an idea take form in his eyes.

There is that satisfied glint, like a cat finding a way to trap its prey.

“Maybe I went about this the wrong way.” Jaskier says, looking at him with those blue, blue eyes through his lashes.

Geralt's heart skips a beat. Does he know what effect he has on him when he does that?

The bard stalks over to Geralt's chair and looks down on him.   
Considering.

And then, without preamble, he grabs Geralt's arms and moves them out of the way and plops down in his laps.

Jaskier is sitting in his lap. Their legs warm against each other, and then Jaskier arranges Geralt's arm around him.

This is not normal.

Something is weird with Jaskier.

Did someone put a spell on him?

Geralt can only stare, bewildered. Jaskier is always physically affectionate, always prone to hugging or patting shoulders, offering massages.

Drunk Jaskier is always worse, impulse control getting them in so much trouble.

It’s also what produces images of what Geralt would like to do to Jaskier.   
With Jaskier.

Against tables for example. Or placed in his lap. He gulps.

“If this is how to get you to talk, this is what I’ll do.” Jaskier leans against Geralt's chest.

It was nice when Bella did it, but when Jaskier does it Geralt stops working.

Jaskier narrows his eyes at him, like he is threatening him. Geralt can see his pulse jump under the thin skin of his neck.

When Geralt fails to give a satisfactory response he pouts a little.

“Or do I need boobs for this?” Jaskier looks down on his own chest, cupping his nonexistent breasts.

Geralt swallows.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he manages to get out, already regretting it, trying not to combust under Jaskier.

“As a matter of fact, yes, Geralt. I would very much like to know what had you blush like that.”

Fuck. FUCK.

“And she wasn’t even in your lap then, so I'm guessing it is something she said. But you are here now, so it woudln’t be sexrelated.” Jaskier muses.

It takes everything he has not to push the bard off his lap and just run.   
Fight or flight.

“Why do you care?” Geralt blurts out.

“Because, Geralt, you told her things. It didn’t even take a question, and you fucking told her about a scar it took me a WEEK to get out of you.”

Wait.

“Jaskier… Are you jealous?”

What if he is? What if Bella is right?

What if..?

Two tense seconds of silence follows. The longest two seconds of Geralt's entire life.

“So what if I am?” The pout is back, worse than ever.

Geralt has to grab Jaskiers hips so that he won’t fall off when he flails his arms around.

“I am your very best friend in the whole wide world, and you tell some…some wench things so freely.”

Geralt can’t say anything.

His hands are on Jaskier, and he clench them in the fabric of Jaskiers clothes so he won’t do something stupid.

Like lifting him the fuck up and press him down on the table instead.

But Geralt is a very, very controlled man.

He can do this.

Jaskier grabs his face, cupping his cheeks, making the witcher meet his eyes.

“What if she did something _bad_ to you, Geralt. She could totally try to get information to use against you! You are a very handsome man and sometimes that makes--”

“--I uh… Sorry. What was the question again?” He breaks in, because Jaskier is working up to a ramble.

“Why the fuck were you blushing Geralt?”

Apparently, talking about it is enough for the heat to return to his face.

“She uh… she told me to tell you something.” He manages to get out.

Not what Jaskier was expecting apparently, he frowns and leans back a little.

“Tell me what? That sounds incredibly unsexy actually. What the hell?”

No. Geralt can’t do this.

“Fuck, you are cute when you are jealouse.” Geralt breathes, unable to help himself.

“She told you to tell me that?” Jaskiers frown deepen.

Geralt is only a man.

Only a witcher.

A male fucking witcher, who needs to do something about this.

He pushes Jaskier out of his lap. His bard looks a little hurt, but is soon cured of that when Geralt crowds him against the table.

Their eyes never stray from each other, Geralt making sure Jaskier can push him away at any moment.

But he doesn’t. His expression is open, vulnerable, hopeful.

So Geralt lifts Jaskier up on the table, settling himself between his open knees.

Slowly Geralt leans forward, capturing Jaskiers lips with his.

Sweet, stupid, oblivious Jaskier.

Jaskier whimpers and presses himself even closer to the witcher, arms around his neck.

Geralt holds him tightly against his chest and they kiss again.

It’s fire, they are melting against each other, molding together.

“She told me to fuck you against the table.” Geralt admits against Jaskiers mouth. He feels rather than sees Jaskiers lips stretch into a smile.

“I can see why that had you blushing.”

**Author's Note:**

> And that's the story of how the room on the second floor, third door on the left had it's table violated.


End file.
